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  ‘Who are you?’ stammered the man. ‘What are you doing down here?’

  ‘I was curious,’ replied Dunbar. He showed the man his ID.

  ‘Oh right, I heard about you. The government busybo — inspector, right?’

  ‘Something like that. And you are?’ said Dunbar.

  ‘Name’s Johnson. I’m one of the porters. I’ve been picking up some equipment.’

  ‘Like working here?’

  ‘Money’s better than what I was getting. It’ll do me.’

  Dunbar noticed the symbol on the side of the cardboard boxes on Johnson’s trolley. It was a wine glass.

  ‘Wine glasses?’ he asked.

  ‘For the PR party tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s that all about?’

  ‘The press have been invited to see the little girl they operated on, the one they took on for free.’

  ‘Oh I see.’

  ‘I guess she can’t insist on confidentiality like the others,’ said Johnson.

  ‘I suppose not,’ agreed Dunbar. It was something he hadn’t considered. They had come to the parting of the ways. Johnson stopped outside the mortuary door. ‘I’m going to use the lift in here,’ he said. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I’ll take the stairs. You and the trolley will just about fill it.’

  As soon as the words were out, Dunbar regretted them. He had just admitted to knowing about the lift and its size. That was tantamount to admitting he had been snooping around earlier. He thought he saw a questioning look in Johnson’s eyes but that could have been just his imagination. After all, he was known to be an inspector. He was expected to be nosey. The problem might come when people compared notes and wondered what he was doing in the basement when he had told Ingrid he was going to Radiology.

  Dunbar paused for a moment at the head of the stairs, wondering whether or not he should go on with his plan to take a look at the second floor or go directly on to Radiology. ‘In for a penny,’ he decided and walked briskly along to the main stairs. He ran up the steps to the first floor and the signs announcing the transplant unit, then walked up the next flight.

  ‘ OBSTETRICS AND GYNAECOLOGY ’, said the sign at the head of the stairs. Dunbar suddenly had the feeling that this was as far as he was going to get. Two Arab gentlemen sitting on chairs outside the entrance doors rose to their feet and barred the way.

  Dunbar showed his ID card and one of them examined it in some detail before handing it back with a shake of the head. Faced with the two unsmiling faces in front of him and the thought of what they might be carrying inside their jackets, he shrugged and retreated downstairs. It was obviously time to visit Radiology.

  Erland Svensen was a man who took life seriously, as became painfully apparent to Dunbar over the course of the next hour. The tall, fair-haired, lantern-jawed Dane was completely devoid of anything resembling a sense of humour. When Dunbar attempted to lighten the atmosphere with a joke, he simply looked blank for a few seconds, then continued his monologue on his sole interest in life, radiology. Having been warned that Dunbar would be visiting his department he had assembled facts and figures on all items of equipment in his department and proceded to justify them in comparison with rival systems by subjecting Dunbar to an in-depth technical appraisal of their relative performance figures.

  When Svensen finally had to stop for breath, Dunbar quickly interjected, ‘That all makes perfect sense to me, Doctor.’

  The comment seemed to take the wind out of Svensen’s sails. He had obviously expected some kind of cost-cutting argument from Dunbar and was surprised when none materialized.

  ‘It does?’

  ‘Of course. You’re obviously a man who knows his job inside out. The patients expect the best and they’re getting it. As long as they’re being charged enough for your excellent services, I’ll be happy.’

  ‘I don’t work out the charges,’ said Svensen weakly. ‘Mr Giordano’s office deals with that.’

  ‘I thought that might be the case.’

  ‘Would you like to meet the staff while you’re here?’

  ‘I certainly would,’ replied Dunbar. Anything would be better than more technical details of X-ray machinery.

  ‘I have two radiographers and a dark-room assistant,’ said Svensen, leading the way out of his office.

  Dunbar had a bet with himself that the radiographers would be glamorous young women.

  ‘Girls, I’d like you to meet Dr Steven Dunbar,’ said Svensen as they entered the main X-ray suite. ‘This is Melissa Timpson and Annabel Waters.’

  Dunbar stepped forward to shake hands with two glamorous young women. His smile was as much about winning the bet as it was about social nicety. What was it, he wondered, that attracted women who looked as if they belonged on a yacht in the Med to become radiographers? Once before, when he had wondered this aloud, his girlfriend at the time had offered the cynical opinion, ‘The plan is to marry a doctor. It’s either that or become a trolley-dolly and hit on a pilot.’

  Melissa and Annabel had been talking to the service engineer about some problem with one of the machines. Dunbar decided to let them get back to it, rather than do a bad impression of a member of the royal family asking questions for the sake of it. ‘What’s through here?’ he asked Svensen, moving towards an exit route.

  ‘This is my pride and joy,’ replied Svensen breaking into a smile that boded ill, thought Dunbar. He was about to get enthusiastic again.

  ‘A small tumour radiation facility,’ announced Svensen. ‘A brand-new development in the treatment of such tumours.’

  ‘What’s special about it?’ asked Dunbar with some trepidation.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ replied Svensen. ‘Come, put this on.’ He handed Dunbar a protective apron and put one on himself. ‘Not that we need it with this machine, but rules have to be obeyed.’

  Svensen put an X-ray plate on the table beneath the front lens of the radiation head and then put a radiation-detection meter very close to it. He used a tungsten light source in the head to align the target and then said, ‘Do you see how close the light circle is to the meter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Watch the meter.’

  Dunbar looked at the needle but it didn’t move when Svensen triggered the radiation source. ‘Nothing happened,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Svensen triumphantly. ‘This machine is so well focused we can hit the tumour without fear of damaging the surrounding tissue. We can use higher doses than before and there’s much less risk to the patient.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Dunbar, getting the point of such a negative display.

  Svensen walked across the room to where an illuminated sign said, DARK ROOM KEEP OUT. He pressed the button of an intercom on the wall and said into it, ‘Run this one through for me, Colin, would you?’

  There was a two-way wall safe next to the door. Svensen pulled the handle of the metal door and it opened a few inches at the top. He slipped the X-ray cassette into it and closed it firmly with a metallic clunk. ‘Won’t be long,’ he said to Dunbar.

  A buzzer announced the return of the film and Svensen collected it from the wall safe. He held it up in triumph. ‘Now then, what d’you think of that?’

  Dunbar took the film from him and saw an almost perfectly edged circle where the film had been exposed to the radiation. The area around it was totally unexposed. ‘Remarkable,’ he said, handing the film back. ‘I’m most impressed.’

  Svensen held the film up again and marvelled at it. ‘Hot damn, this is a good machine,’ he enthused. ‘Here! Keep it as a souvenir.’

  Dunbar accepted the film and smiled at the man’s total immersion in his job. He thanked him for showing him around.

  ‘Any time,’ smiled Svensen.

  ‘A good morning?’ asked Ingrid when Dunbar returned to his office.

  ‘Dr Svensen’s certainly very knowledgeable,’ he replied.

  She signified her understanding with her superior little smile. ‘He’s certainly
that,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve got the figures you asked for.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And an invitation too.’

  Dunbar raised his eyebrows.

  ‘There’s going to be a press conference and photo opportunity followed by a reception for the NHS patient who had the jaw-realignment surgery with us.’

  ‘Before and after pictures,’ said Dunbar.

  ‘They’re quite dramatic, I believe,’ said Ingrid. ‘All good publicity for the hospital I think you’ll agree.’

  ‘It’s certainly that. I only hope she doesn’t mind being a circus animal for the afternoon.’

  ‘A small price to pay,’ said Ingrid. ‘Her whole life will be changed by the work of the surgeons here.’

  ‘You’re right,’ smiled Dunbar. But he suspected that the patient had been selected because she would provide dramatic publicity in return for some relatively simple surgery, and that she’d taken precedence over more difficult patients who wouldn’t have provided the same photo opportunity. He wondered just how much the scheme was going to benefit patients chosen for free referral and had the depressing thought that it might all be just window-dressing. There was no doubt that the specialist skills and equipment of Medic Ecosse could be used on occasion to great effect in the treatment of difficult NHS cases, but would that be how it worked? Or would Medic Ecosse go for the safe option every time? He wondered if there might be a way of investigating precedent and getting an indication from that.

  ‘Who has the final say in selecting patients for the free treatment scheme?’ he asked.

  ‘A committee of three. Dr Kinscherf, Mr Giordano and the head of the department concerned,’ replied Ingrid. ‘Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Just interested. As I understand it, the hospital has taken on a few NHS patients for free in the past. Do you think you could get me a list and information about what treatment they had?’

  Ingrid obviously wondered how this could possibly interest someone employed to monitor financial dealings, but she merely said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Dunbar knew well that he had no business asking for this information. It was plain curiosity on his part and perhaps the thought that even if his other inquiries came to nought he could at least bring the failings of the free referral scheme — if that’s what they turned out to be — to someone’s attention at the Scottish Office.

  EIGHT

  Clive Turner was looking forward to coming off duty after a ten-hour shift at the Children’s Hospital when he was called to the phone. It was Leo Giordano at Medic Ecosse.

  ‘Dr Turner? I have some good news for you. Dr Kinscherf and Dr Ross have agreed to take on the Chapman girl as a patient.’

  ‘That’s not good news; that’s wonderful news,’ exclaimed Turner. ‘I had to tell her parents earlier that neither of them would be suitable as a donor. They were pre-warned, of course, but it’s never easy to hear things you don’t want to. I honestly didn’t think there was much chance of you taking Amanda on.’

  ‘Frankly, I didn’t hold out much hope either but your eloquence won the day. I told Ross and Kinscherf what you said about these folks deserving some kind of a break and I guess they agreed with you!’

  ‘I’m absolutely delighted,’ said Turner. ‘I’m sure her parents will be too. Where do we go from here?’

  ‘Well, there is one obstacle left to clear, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You may have heard that we were recently subject to a review by government officials.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘We got agreement over finances but part of the agreement was that we should have one of their people on site to see that we weren’t wasting public money on champagne and caviar as we private hospitals are prone to do.’

  Turner chuckled.

  ‘I think we’re going to have to clear it with this guy first, or maybe you’d like to approach him yourself to plead your case? Like we said, transplants are expensive so we’re talking serious altruism here. This guy’s name is Dr Steven Dunbar. I can give you the number of his office here at the hospital if you like. What do you think?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Turner. He wrote down the number and asked, ‘Do you think this will be a real problem?’

  ‘Frankly, I’ve no idea but you can tell him we’ve all agreed to it. Maybe that’ll help to put some pressure on him.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Turner. ‘And if he says yes?’

  ‘We can admit her on Friday. That gives us both time to get the paperwork in order.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘There is one thing,’ said Giordano with a note of caution in his voice.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’d be happy if there wasn’t any publicity over this one.’

  Turner was slightly taken aback. ‘But this is a wonderfully generous gesture on your part,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be only too happy to get some good press out of it. You deserve it!’

  ‘Thanks, but the truth is this kid is pretty sick by all accounts and it’s always in the lap of the gods whether a suitable organ will come along in time. The public like instant success or they get bored, so we’d appreciate it if this particular freebie could be kept among ourselves.’

  ‘Of course, if that’s what you’d prefer,’ said Turner.

  ‘Good,’ said Giordano. ‘Don’t get me wrong. If a kidney becomes available, then the kid’s chances will be as good as any other patient’s. It’s just that if there should be a long delay and she’s stuck with the tissue-degradation problem, then we’d hate to have a really public failure on our hands. That’s not going to do any of us any good.’

  ‘Understood,’ said Turner.

  ‘I take it she’s already on the transplant register?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then it’ll just be a case of changing patient location details. If you can give me her registration number I’ll get one of the secretaries to post the update.’

  ‘I can give you that right now,’ said Turner, opening the folder that sat by the computer terminal on his desk.

  ‘Shoot.’

  Turner read out the number and Giordano read it back to him.

  ‘Good. So it’s all down to Dr Dunbar. If he plays ball we’ll expect her on Friday, barring any unforeseen complications.’

  ‘On Friday, and thanks again. I’m sure I speak for everyone concerned when I say we’re all very grateful.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Turner put the phone down and looked at the number on the paper in front of him. One more hurdle, just one more. A bloody government official! But at least he was a doctor. He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad. He picked up the phone and dialled the number.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Dr Steven Dunbar, please.’

  The call was answered at the first ring.

  ‘Dr Dunbar? My name is Clive Turner. I’m a doctor in the renal unit at Glasgow’s Children’s Hospital.’

  ‘What can I do for you, Doctor?’

  Turner went through Amanda Chapman’s case history and how her chances of survival were slim, if she didn’t at least become stable on dialysis soon, and perhaps negligible in the long run, if she didn’t receive a transplant.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Dr Ross has agreed to take Amanda on in his unit as a free NHS referral and Dr Kinscherf and Mr Giordano have also agreed, but they referred me to you as the final arbiter.’

  ‘I see,’ replied Dunbar. He was totally unprepared for something like this. He’d received no warning but could understand why not. It would be much easier for him to turn down a request from the hospital authorities. Hearing it from Turner was almost as effective as hearing it from the child’s parents. He now had a dilemma. If he was who he was supposed to be, he should certainly be objecting on the grounds of cost, but he wasn’t. He, as a person, thought the kid should have every chance that was open to her. ‘It’s all right by me, Dr Turner,’ he said.


  ‘You’re serious?’ Turner spluttered, taken off guard. He had been preparing himself for a long desperate argument.

  ‘I wish her well,’ said Dunbar.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough. I’ll never hear another word against civil servants.’

  ‘Then it’s all been worth while,’ said Dunbar with a smile and put down the phone.

  Turner was delighted. This was wonderful news and couldn’t have come at a better time. Amanda Chapman was not doing well. Continual dialysis was taking its toll on her youthful resilience and she was beginning to weaken mentally. Once that started, there was a real chance that she would go into a downward spiral and the end would come quickly.

  The patient’s mental state was often underrated in serious illness. A strong, positive attitude — the will to live — was often the difference between life and death in Turner’s experience. He’d seen kids put up such a fight that it brought tears to his eyes when they eventually lost. He’d also seen children drift away seemingly without so much as a backward glance. Amanda was coming to crisis point. It could go either way.

  Her illness had taken its toll on her parents too. He had seen stress and tiredness affect them both more and more over the past few weeks. They had aged visibly. He found their phone number from Amanda’s admission card and called it.

  A woman’s voice said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Kate? It’s Clive Turner at Amanda’s hospital in Glasgow.’

  ‘Has something happened? What’s wrong? It’s Amanda, she’s-’

  ‘It’s nothing awful, Kate, I assure you,’ Turner interrupted. ‘Far from it. I’ve just had a call from the Medic Ecosse Hospital. They’ve agreed to take Amanda on as a patient.’

  ‘They have? Oh my God, that’s wonderful! We’ve been so worried about her. I was just saying to Sandy last night that she’s been getting weaker over the past few days.’

  ‘I think that might well change when Medic Ecosse put her on their dialysis machinery,’ said Turner. ‘No one can promise anything but it’s my guess she’s going to do a whole lot better. If they do manage to stabilize her, it will be back to waiting and hoping for a kidney to become available, but at least she’ll have more time.’